Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 130

**KACIA**

A hand seizes my arm.

“Kacia!” Tracey’s voice snaps me back, sharp, stripped of all his usual flamboyance. He pulls me close with surprising force, his face streaked with ash, his eyes deadly serious. 

“We need to go. Now. The whole place is coming down!” He tells me urgently. I stumble after him a few steps, coughing, as a beam overhead gives way with a scream of splitting wood and a shower of sparks. A section of ceiling crashes to the floor, flames bursting outward in a wave of heat. Tracey drags me clear, shielding me with his body. There’s no trace of the teasing vampire who mocks me daily, just someone intent on getting me out alive. Through the smoke, my gaze catches Izzy. She hasn’t moved. Not an inch. She stands exactly where she’s been all night, curls catching the firelight, glowing faint like a halo. Her little hands are folded neatly in front of her, her posture unnervingly proper. She doesn’t flinch when a beam crashes down just yards away, doesn’t even blink when burning embers scatter across the floor at her feet. She just watches. Calm. Blank. It’s wrong. Everything is screaming, burning, collapsing around us, and Izzy looks like she’s standing in the middle of a painting. She looks almost… Numb. Like it isn’t happening. Like it doesn’t matter. Or maybe… Maybe she just can’t let it matter. If your job is to watch tragedies, to stand beside people as their lives shatter, if you were forced to witness one life-altering moment after another, I think it would destroy you if you cared too much.

“KACIA!” Tracey’s voice cuts through the roar of the fire. He tugs on my arm again, harder this time. His grip is strong, his expression streaked with soot, eyes tight with urgency.

“What’s wrong with her?” Oz demands hoarsely as he approaches, his voice roughened by smoke.

“Shock or something.” Tracey snaps back, frustration and fear bleeding together. 

“She seems out of it. Just get her out of here! I need to get Clarence.” He explains. 

“Kacia, darling?” Oz tries again, closer now. His voice is softer, almost coaxing, but urgent underneath. I blink at him. I hear him. Every word cuts through, but my brain won’t connect the dots. I can’t seem to figure out how to answer. Oz exhales sharply, forcing calm. His hand brushes down my hair, sweeping the tangled strands back from my face. The touch is grounding, anchoring me to him when the rest of the world is coming apart.

“Okay…” He murmurs, steady even though the firelight flickers across his face.

“I’m going to get you out of here. Let’s go.” He says calmly. Oz doesn’t wait for me to respond. He slides an arm under my knees and another around my back, sweeping me up against his chest. The heat of the fire claws at us, smoke thickens with every breath, beams crack overhead like gunshots, but all I can focus on is Oz’s hold, solid and certain, carrying me out of the wreckage.

Oz doesn’t hesitate. His arms lock tighter around me as he turns toward a collapsing archway. The fire claws at the ceiling, chunks of flaming wood breaking loose and crashing to the floor around us. Over his shoulder, through the blur of smoke and tears, I see Tracey spin back toward Clarence. The old man is planted in place, cane braced hard against the tiles, his lips moving fast as he throws spell after spell at the flames. His face is carved from anguish, every line etched deep, his shoulders shaking as though he could will the blaze to obey if he only poured enough of himself into the fight

“Clarence!” Tracey coughs, voice raw. 

“It’s too late… We have to go!” He insists. But Clarence doesn’t move. It’s like he doesn’t even hear him. His gaze is locked on the shelves, on the centuries of knowledge going up in smoke. He isn’t just fighting fire. He’s refusing to let go of the life he’s built, the heart of his existence. Vidar appears out of the haze, wings spread wide against the falling debris, his skin still the color of storm clouds. He reaches for Clarence, but the old man jerks away, snarling something about not giving up so easily. Tracey catches his arm. Clarence wrenches free. Vidar grips his shoulder, and Clarence thrashes like a cornered animal, cane raised as if he’ll fight them too before he’ll leave his library. My chest aches watching it. Clarence, who never bows to anyone, who commands the library like a king in his domain, is breaking. He hasn’t accepted it. He can’t. The fire is too far gone, but in his eyes there’s still a chance, still something worth saving if he just fights a little longer. Tracey and Vidar exchange a look through the smoke, grim and unspoken. Then they both move at once. Tracey lunges low, pinning Clarence’s arm, Vidar wraps his stone-carved grip around the man’s shoulders. Clarence shouts in fury, struggling, cursing them both as they drag him bodily away from the inferno. Over Oz’s shoulder, I watch the three of them follow us towards the exit, their silhouettes staggering against the blaze. My throat tightens until it hurts. Because I know Clarence isn’t fighting the fire anymore. He’s fighting reality. He’s fighting having to accept that his library, the one place that was untouchable, sacred, is as good as gone.

We burst out into the night air, choking and stumbling, the smoke clawing at our throats. For a heartbeat, I think we’ve made it. That somehow, against all odds, we’re all safe. Then I realise we’re one person short. I look around frantically until I spot him. He’s still standing in the doorway, framed in fire. The inferno blazes behind him, painting his storm-grey skin in flickering shades of orange and gold. His white-silver hair streaked with ash, his wings half-spread as though he could hold the flames back by sheer will. He doesn’t move. He just stands there, a sentinel in the firelight. And his expression, quiet, heavy and sad, twists something deep in my chest.

“Vidar!” I croak, my voice raw from the smoke. 

“Come on, you have to get out!” I call. Tracey whirls, soot streaking his face, eyes wide with something I’ve never seen in him before, fear. 

“Don’t just stand there, you great slab of granite! MOVE!” He yells hoarsely, waving his arms as if sheer volume might drag Vidar forward. But Vidar only shakes his head, slow and sorrowful.

“I… Can’t.” he says, and his voice is steady, resigned. The words don’t make sense. They can’t make sense.

“What do you mean you can’t?” I demand, thrashing weakly in Oz’s arms, clawing to get closer. Oz lowers me to my feet but doesn’t let go of me. Vidar rests one massive hand against the scorched stone of the doorway, his claws biting into the frame. 

“I’m a gargoyle… Remember? I’m bound to the library. It’s my anchor. As long as it still stands, I can’t leave it. And if it falls…” His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t look away.

“I don’t really know what will become of me.” He admits. 

“No...” Clarence staggers forward, coughing, his cane trembling in his grip. His face is wet with something more than sweat. 

“No, no, that’s impossible. We can… There must be a way. A counter-spell, a release, a break clause in the bindings…” Oz trails off. I watch Clarence’s face as he realises that there is more to lose than just a building of old books. 

“Then break it!” Tracey snaps at Clarence, his usual flippant tone burned away. He sounds furious, desperate. 

“You’re the librarian! Rewrite the bloody contract, rip the damn tether, I don’t care what it takes, just get him out!” He demands. Clarence’s eyes blaze, but his voice shakes. 

“It’s not that simple! The tether isn’t a spell. It isn’t something that can be broken or undone. It’s woven into him. Into what he is. Pulling it apart is like asking him to stop being himself, it’s not possible!” He insists. 

“Then we carry him!” I shout, wild, desperate, clutching at any plan. 

“If we drag him out-” I continue. But Vidar cuts me off. 

“No.” Vidar’s voice is quiet, almost kind, cutting clean through the panic. His face softens as he looks at me. 

“If you try, the magic will resist. They would tear at me, tear at you. You could all be hurt. I won’t allow it.” He says firmly. 

“Vidar…” Oz’s voice breaks, harsher than I’ve ever heard it. 

“Don’t you dare just stand there and accept this.” He says, almost angrily. 

“I’m not giving up.” Vidar says, and even as the fire rages behind him, there’s a faint, sad smile on his face. 

“I’ll try to find somewhere safe to wait it out. Maybe if some part of the structure survives, I’ll be okay. If not…” He exhales, a sound that breaks my heart. 

“That is just part of the risk of what I am.” He says. The silence that follows is unbearable. Tracey rakes his hands through his soot-streaked hair, pacing like a caged animal, swearing viciously. 

“This is insane. We’re just going to leave him here?!” He hisses. Clarence shakes his head hard, tears carving clean lines through the ash on his face. 

“No, no, no…” He mutters, over and over, as though denial itself might stop the fire. He pounds the butt of his cane against the ground, he starts muttering and listing spells, as if trying to find some kind of solution. But the flames roar higher and he has no answer. Oz’s claws dig into my side as he holds me tighter, his whole body trembling with rage he’s barely containing. His voice is low, guttural. 

“You don’t deserve this.” He growls, and the words are as much a plea as they are a protest. Vidar just looks at us, all of us, with that same deep sadness. As if we’re children fighting against a storm, begging our parents to make it stop. And he’s the one who knows it can’t be stopped. A section of roof collapses behind him, the sound like thunder. Flames lick higher, sparks bursting around his wings. He doesn’t flinch. He gives us one last, faint nod. 

“It’s not safe here. Go. Please.” He insists. Then, before we can argue further, he turns, stepping back into the fire. His massive silhouette vanishes into the smoke, swallowed whole. My chest feels hollow, my throat raw from more than the smoke. Tracey swears again, furious, his hands shaking. Clarence crumples to his knees, his cane clattering against the stones as he bows his head. Even Oz, shakes as though holding me is the only thing keeping him anchored. None of us know what to do. None of us can fix it. And in the end, we have no choice but to leave him behind.